


let the world leave us behind (let your heart be next to mine)

by serpentking



Series: hold me close and I’ll surrender to your heart [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Insecurity, Introspection, Jughead Jones Needs a Hug, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Polyamory, Protective Sweet Pea, References to Depression, Riverdale Writing Challenge, Soft Reggie Mantle, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 04:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17615276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentking/pseuds/serpentking
Summary: Home is wherever they are.[Reggie presses a kiss against each one of his knuckles. The scene makes Sweet Pea’s heart ache, and he wants to reach out ― reach out, comb his fingers through Reggie’s hair until he’s made a mess out of it, tug him closer, hug him, kiss him,hold―“It’s no big deal, Jug.” Reggie promises, voice hoarse, and Sweet Pea has to swallow down theneed,because this is definitely not the time to get emotional.]





	let the world leave us behind (let your heart be next to mine)

**Author's Note:**

> this is like my fourth attempt at rwc and the first one not to get ~~completely~~ out of control  
> (still went over the ideal 3.5k but oH WELL no can do about that)
> 
> a note warning, just in case: there are scars mentioned in the middle; they're not _explicitly_ described, but it's worth mentioning
> 
> have fun!

Jughead’s a quiet guy ― he’s always been and will probably always be.

Sweet Pea’s known that since they first met, remembers when he thought Jughead’s silence reeked of entitlement, of prejudice, and how _badly_ he wanted to fight him for it. Jughead was even more quiet back then, always keeping everything to himself, talking only when he _really_ needed to or when his father demanded he say something ― Sweet Pea remembers vividly how enraged he felt whenever his King had to almost _beg_ for his son to interact with his fellow Serpents, because it bothered him greatly that Jughead didn’t seem to regard them with anything but pity. Sweet Pea can admit he came very close to _loathe_ Jughead, and would’ve probably done it if the Southside hadn’t closed off and he and his peers transferred to Riverdale High ― where, dare he say it, Sweet Pea had his eyes more or less _forcefully_ open.

Thing is: Jughead’s not a _social_ person ― hell, he’s probably the less socially apt person Sweet Pea’s ever _met,_ and that says something. Not to say he _can’t_ interact, because, to someone who gives off ‘loner’ vibes as strongly as he does, Jughead has a lot of people who care about him, a lot of people who’d put him in their ‘friend’ category. It just took him a little time to get used to the Serpents’ presence, to feel _safe_ near them, comfortable enough to start a conversation on his own; after the first times, a few misplaced teasings and jokes, it wasn’t _hard_ to strike off an awkward friendship, weird as it sounded, and Sweet Pea took a liking to him.

It all only started to change when Jughead decided to join the Serpents, in the middle of their first year. Sweet Pea doesn’t know, up until today, what drove Jughead to take his chance, to take the risk, but he’s glad he did. The moment Sweet Pea’s fist collided with Jughead’s face ― their first real, _direct_ contact ―, he knew, they _both_ knew: he was in for good. Jughead came out bruised and bloodied, a Serpent jacket over his shoulders and a knowledge that’d change both of their lives forever.

Since then, Sweet Pea can say they’ve more or less figured out this whole ‘soulmate’ thing ― they had their ups and downs, they fought until they had nothing else to fight about, and they’ve found a common, safe ground to stay on since then, to compensate for the rocky start. Almost three years have gone by, and Sweet Pea thinks it’s not an understatement to stay he’s gotten to know Jughead in a way very few people do ― he’s seen him at his best, he’s seen him at his worst; the good, the bad, the neutral. Sweet Pea knows how to deal with Jughead in a way Reggie still hasn’t learned to, for all he tries; that’s not a problem (though it used to be), but it means Sweet Pea’s the go-to person for when things start going downhill.

Having FP calling him as soon as Sweet Pea’s shift ends at Pop’s on a Friday evening is a sign that there’s something _definitelly_ going downhill.

“Boss.” he greets, at the same time FP goes:

“Jug hasn’t been home since this Wednesday.” and then, as tense as his first statement, he questions: “Has he been sleeping over or something?”

Sweet Pea’s never really got the feeling FP is even remotely _fine_ with him being the Serpent Jughead’s got a bond with ― even then, he’s got it better than Reggie, who’s got a door slammed on his face the first time he tried coming over. It’s not even that FP’s got a problem with them both being boys (hell would’ve broken loose if he did), but Sweet Pea knows he only wants what’s best for his son, and a Serpent with anger issues and a former bully aren’t exactly boyfriend, _soulmate_ material. Jughead didn’t like having his soulmates pushed around, though, and all four of them had a sit-and-talk meeting at the Jones’ trailer when he called quits on his father’s overprotective tendencies.

They’ve found a somewhat weird middle-ground, Sweet Pea guesses. FP’s not gonna jump on the gun with them, he’s gonna ask questions first and shoot later, and, in turn, they’ll respect his wishes regarding Jughead’s safety. King’s rules include being aware of when and where they’re going with his son if they plan on disappearing for the day (or for a few days, for all that matters, because he’s not going to keep his son on a _leash)_ ― after the last time Jughead went out missing, they’re not taking any chances; it seemed like a very reasonable rule, so no one really had any problem with it.

“No, sir.” and, a bit hesitating, because he’s definitely _not_ eager to put the blame on anyone, Sweet Pea tries: “Have you tried calling Reg?”

FP’s answer is short and neutral.

“Mantle boy’s on a date.”

Sweet Pea doesn’t know if Jughead talked with his father about what they have going on here. If FP _does_ know ― which he might do, even if they haven’t really brought it up, because he _does_ keep tabs all over Riverdale, after all ―, it makes sense for him not to sound like he blames Reggie for this, even if he _is_ a bit colder, a bit _meaner_ to him than he is to Sweet Pea in general. That FP’s more or less unwilling to interrupt Reggie’s date with Veronica, even though he’s probably worried _sick_ about his son, sounds a lot to Sweet Pea like Jughead setting up his own limits, his own rules within his relationship with his father.

That Sweet Pea has no reason not to ring Reggie and ask about Jughead’s whereabouts is just a tiny detail, and neither of them are commenting on it.

“I’ll call him, boss.” he says, already listing off the places where his soulmate’s probably ran off to ― library, Southside High, the trashed Drive-In. The bunker in the Fox Forest. “I’ll tell you as soon as we find him.”

 _As soon as,_ not _if._ Sweet Pea’s already fairly sure where he’ll find Jughead ― that his soulmate hasn’t even let a note is telling on its own, and worry chews on his insides with a viciousness that makes him nauseated. Jughead doesn’t do these kind of things, both because he’s too kind to do so and because he knows Sweet Pea and Reggie are paranoid assholes ― that he hasn’t been _going home_ and _none of them have noticed_ is enough to make Sweet Pea feel enraged with himself, glaring at his shoes.

First things first, though. He’ll have to ring Reggie, apologize to Veronica for interrupting them _and_ get to Jughead ― make sure he’s safe, he’s fed, he’s well ― before start blaming himself for this; then he can be miserable all he wants, there’ll be nothing to stop him.

_First things first, though._

“Okay.” FP breathes out, and Sweet Pea hadn’t realized how much _tension_ was gathering above his shoulders until his King adds, gentler than before: “Take care of him, Sweet Pea.”

That FP’s not out for his and Reggie’s blood is enough for Sweet Pea to be aware of how far they’ve come with the leader of the Serpents ― if this had happened when they were just figuring out how they fit, just figuring out things, FP would’ve _certainly_ made sure to let them know they’d never be trusted again.

“I will, sir.”

As soon as FP’s off the line, Sweet Pea rings his soulmate, pacing, fighting the desire to get on his bike and go straight to the Fox Forest ― he _knows_ Jughead’s going to be there, just as he knows it’s not going to be pretty, and he’s not entirely sure he can do this alone. He did, before, but now they’re a team, they’re together, and Sweet Pea knows dealing with this on his own will be bad.

He’s stressed, he’s tired and he can’t do this alone.

Reggie picks up on the second ring.

“Pea?” he sounds ― _worried,_ and that twists Sweet Pea’s guts painfully. “What’s up?”

And there’s not a way to rip off this bandage carefully, there is? Sweet Pea muses for a moment, but ultimately decides beating around the bush will take them nowhere. Might as well just be done with it.

“Jug’s having a relapse.”

 _Come with me,_ Sweet Pea wants to tell him. _This won’t be pretty and he hasn’t been fine for a while already and I don’t know if I can do this on my own._ Admitting it to himself is far more easier than saying it out loud, though ― Sweet Pea has a hard time opening up, even after all this time, even though all’s been forgiven, even though they’ve moved on already.

With the SATs just around the corner, his part-time job at Pop’s, seeing all his friends ― and _both_ of his soulmates ― making plans of leaving Riverdale as soon as the opportunity arises and whatnot, Sweet Pea hadn’t realized how _exhausted_ he is, which might just clue him into what, exactly, has made one of his boyfriends go missing.

That Jughead’s caved in to the stress is not something hard to understand, it’s not something to blame himself over ― that Sweet Pea hadn’t seen it coming _is._

“I’m going to the bunker.” is what he ends up saying, voice weird even to his own ears, and Sweet Pea rubs his eyes, an ache installing itself at the back of his head, throbbing painfully.

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

“I’ll just take Ronnie home.” is what Reggie tells him, and Sweet Pea’s shoulders sag in both relief and guilt.

“Sorry about ruining your date.” he swallows through the lump in his throat. “Tell Veronica I said hi.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Reggie says, voice incredibly soft. “I’ll be there in fifteen, twenty at most, promise.”

Then he, too, hangs up, and, for a moment, Sweet Pea feels incredibly _lonely._

It’s a cold night in Riverdale.

 

It’s bad.

Sweet Pea knows it’s bad as soon as he enters the bunker, darkness surrounding him whole, his steps and breath too loud in the quietness that overtakes the place. There’s no light on, no candle, no nothing ― the place’s pitch black, and, for a moment, Sweet Pea has to fight down the panic that rises all the way up to his throat, threatening to overcome his senses.

He swallows. Counts to ten and then backwards. Wills his hands to stop shaking, his heart to stop racing.

“Jughead?”

Nothing. Sweet Pea keeps walking, slowly, tentative. This isn’t the first time, and he doubts it’ll be the last ― it still doesn’t mean he’s gotten _used_ to it, doesn’t mean he finds any _comfort_ in how familiar the situation, the _silence_ is. If anything, it only makes Sweet Pea more distressed.

“Jug?”

A shuffle, the creaking of an old mattress ― the relief that floods Sweet Pea’s system makes his eyes slightly wet, but he doesn’t allow himself to relax just yet. He takes a few more tentative steps before coming to a stop, not sure if he should just roam around the room until he bumps into something (someone) or wait until something happens; Jughead has the habit of letting his things lying around the place, and Sweet Pea doesn’t want to mess anything up, so waiting will have to do.

He tries to focus on the sound of his own breathing, until, eventually, he’s calmed down enough for his heart not to feel like it’s about to burst out of his chest anymore, until the rush of blood in his ears has quietened down to something bearable. Sweet Pea: 1. Anxiety: 0. Small mercies of life.

“Sweet Pea?”

“It’s me, Jug.” and then, both hopeful and a bit sheepish, he adds: “Can I turn the light on?”

More shuffling, a quiet clicking noise, and things get a bit brighter. The warm yellow light comes from Sweet Pea’s right, a bit behind him, and he immediately realizes it was wise not to keep on walking, because he would’ve ended up hitting their small table and knocking down Jughead’s G&G things and ― a bowl of soup? He turns around, movements slow, to find Jughead sitting on the bed, wrapped up in a burrito of blankets, hair sticking up to all sides. Not quite glaring, but not exactly _pleased_ to have company, either.

Sweet Pea takes in his appearance, the way the poor lampshade’s light seems to darken the bags under Jughead’s eyes, the small downward of his lips, the way he holds himself tightly, shoulders squared up for a fight even though everything in his face screams of exhaustion and sleep deprivation. Part of Sweet Pea wants to engulf him in an embrace, comb his fingers through his hair, rock him back and forth and hum for him to sleep ― the other part, the bigger part, knows it’s just him overreacting, because he’ll not do anything until Jughead gives him permission for it, _consent._

He doesn’t dare offering him a smile, because he did that the first time and it made Jughead bawl his eyes out ― he doesn’t try moving closer without asking, because that’s also not a good idea. As it is, Sweet Pea forces himself to relax, to look as collected and peaceful as he manages.

“Can I come over?” he asks, voice lower than normal, warmer.

Jughead makes a weird half-shrug, but, other than that, refuses to give him a verbal answer. Not ideal, but beggars can’t be choosers, and Sweet Pea will work with what he can ― he drags his feet a bit, tests the waters, sees if Jughead shows any sign of discomfort with his presence here. When Jughead doesn’t, Sweet Pea sits at the edge of the queen size bed, only half turned to Jughead, and starts untying his shoelaces, kicking off his shoes and crawling closer, until he’s sitting at his side. Jughead watches him, awfully quiet, face carefully blank.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Sweet Pea’s never been good at this ‘comforting’ thing, but, for Jughead, he’ll always try ― following his instincts is _usually_ a good idea, because Sweet Pea’s too antsy to keep still, and, if anything, the uneasiness fuels him into trying to find a way to let Jughead know he’s safe with him, he can trust him, Sweet Pea won’t let him down; not this time, at least.

Jughead answers him with a shake of his head.

“Wanna tell me about your day?”

Another shake. Sweet Pea takes off his jacket, hangs it at the edge of the bed frame. There’s not much he can offer right now, not much he can _do_ other than _stay._

“Cuddles?”

Jughead’s halfway through the motion of shaking his head again before he seems to think better of it, staring at Sweet Pea for a moment longer before giving him a slow, hesitant nod. Sweet Pea doesn’t think much before reaching out, still making sure to give Jughead time enough to tell him to back off if he wants to, but Jughead doesn’t, and Sweet Pea cups his face gently.

He doesn’t try talking because he knows it won’t help ― Jughead’s not into _sharing,_ he’s not even into _showing,_ and making him feel pressured into it will only make things worse. As it is, Sweet Pea merely gives him time, plays with his hair for a bit before sliding down to push the blankets away, mindful of Jughead’s reactions, how his expression changes slightly.

Jughead’s eyes follow his every move, but he doesn’t offer any resistance, doesn’t show any sign of discomfort ― he doesn’t try to hold the blankets when they slid down his shoulders, pooling around his waist, exposing his naked shoulders and chest, and doesn’t complain when Sweet Pea tugs him closer, cradling him gently, chin resting at the top of his head.

“You’re safe here, Jug.” he promises, rubbing soothing circles against his back. “I’m with you.”

Jughead’s breath hitches and he makes a small, sad sound at the back of his throat, hiding his face against Sweet Pea’s chest ― Sweet Pea doesn’t ask, doesn’t want to, and, when the tears eventually come, he doesn’t question them. Problem is: when Sweet Pea reaches out, when he goes to wrap his arms around Jughead, his hands instinctively stop at Jughead’s middle, like he would’ve done if they were in any other situation at any other place.

Above his ribs. His scars.

The scars Jughead’s always been very open about _not wanting any of his soulmates to touch._

There’s a moment of stillness, of quiet horror installing itself within his guts, and Sweet Pea panics for all three seconds before Jughead sobs, fingers clutching at his shirt, and it breaks Sweet Pea’s heart. He whispers apologies, rearranging them so Jughead can lie mostly on top of him, humming quietly, trying to calm him down. Ideally, that’d be the moment Jughead would start responding to him ― that’d be the moment where he says or does something, lets him know if that’s alright, lets him know what to do.

“Please.” Jughead’s voice breaks, and Sweet Pea stops, not knowing exactly _what_ his soulmate’s asking for. Should he stop? Should he go on? Only ‘please’ is not enough for him to understand. “Please.”

Jughead’s _shaking,_ he’s not ― he’s not _fighting,_ he’s not trying to make him leave or telling him to let go, and, suddenly, Sweet Pea _knows_ what he has to do.

“I’ve got you.” he presses a kiss against his soulmate’s forehead, his temples, his cheeks. “I’ve got you, Jug.”

Jughead relaxes enough for him to know that it’s alright, even though he’s still crying, and Sweet Pea knows he won’t hear much more from now on. Sweet Pea’s fingers trail gently across the jagged scars, paler than the rest of Jughead’s complexion, sticking out horribly across his ribs, bumps of bone that make Jughead look thinner than he should in an almost unhealthy way. Jughead’s never told him the story behind those scars ― to be quite honest, Jughead’s never actively told him _anything_ about it; most of what Sweet Pea knows is because he proded at a few places he shouldn’t have, and Jughead eventually let himself feel secure enough to show it to him, but that’s all.

It’s not pretty, carved on his body like an awful reminder, and Sweet Pea never allows himself to dwell much on it, both because he’s not sure he wants to know and because he’s aware Jughead wouldn’t want him to. Sometimes, the scars look like an accident.

Sometimes they don’t.

 

By the time Reggie shows up, eyes heavy with worry, the sobs have dwindled to a stop, and Jughead’s just sprawled over Sweet Pea, hands closed into tight fists against his shirt, tears still making their way down his cheeks. Reggie watches them in silence for a moment before he, too, decides to join ― kicking off his shoes and jeans, taking off his trademark jacket before crawling under the blankets.

Jughead doesn’t get _startled,_ he doesn’t look taken back, but there _are_ more tears the moment he sees Reggie, the moment he allows himself to reach out, shaking, to cup his face, thumb rubbing Reggie’s cheek gently. Reggie knows enough not to reach out immediately, not to wrap an arm around him and drag him to lie between them, so both of them can hold him ― he knows enough not to move closer, knows enough not to move away.

“Your date with V.” Jughead whispers.

It’s not a question. Reggie takes Jughead’s hand between his, slowly, allowing him time to push away if he wants ― when Jughead doesn’t, Reggie presses a kiss against each one of his knuckles. The scene makes Sweet Pea’s heart ache, and he wants to reach out ― reach out, comb his fingers through Reggie’s hair until he’s made a mess out of it, tug him closer, hug him, kiss him, _hold_ ―

“It’s no big deal, Jug.” Reggie promises, voice hoarse, and Sweet Pea has to swallow down the _need,_ because this is definitely not the time to get emotional. “How are you tonight, prince?”

Jughead sniffles, averting his eyes. Sweet Pea tightens his hold on him, presses a kiss against the crown of his head. If it were a good night, this would be the moment Jughead would find something to tease Reggie about ― his choice of words, the petname, how _fond_ he sounds even though he always tries to make himself look, _sound_ sharper than he actually is, meaner. As it’s not, Jughead hesitates before allowing himself to answer.

“Bad?” he swallows dry, licks his lips. “I couldn’t ― I haven’t been eating well lately.”

Which, coming from Jughead, is a _big fucking deal_ ― Sweet Pea doesn’t think he’s _ever_ seen Jughead turning down food. He holds him a bit tighter, a bit closer, and Reggie breathes out slowly, edging closer.

“Why not?”

“Dunno.” Jughead’s still clinging onto Sweet Pea, but he refuses to look at any of them, and Reggie rubs his back, carefully avoiding coming anywhere near Jughead’s ribs and Sweet Pea’s hands placed over them. “Not hungry.”

And, yeah, that’s _worrying._ Sweet Pea doesn’t think he could hide the shaking of his hands from either of his soulmates even if he _tried_ ― so he doesn’t. He gives Reggie a pleading look that’s answered pretty quickly, Reggie scooting closer, chest pressed against Jughead’s back, rearranging himself so he can reach out, wrap an arm around Sweet Pea’s shoulders, each of them pressed on a side of Jughead ― Reggie presses a kiss against the top of Sweet Pea’s head, his temple, squeezes his shoulder firmly, comfortingly, and Sweet Pea’s chest doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

“Why haven’t you told us, Jug?” he asks, very quietly.

It’s not a tricky question ― he’s not trying to _pry_ answers out of Jughead, he’s not trying to _force_ him to answer. It’s just ― they’ve passed the time of hiding things from each other already; after their last fight, they’ve promised to be honest with each other about things. He’s not _blaming_ Jughead for not telling them, would never blame him, but he _does_ feel guilty of not having noticed it before, of not having _seen_ how bad things were getting.

A moment of silence goes by.

“Reg’s been gushing about his date with V for a while.” Jughead finally admits, without looking up, shoulders hunched,“You were planning that beach trip with Fangs.” and then, weakly: “I didn’t wanna bother anyone.”

It’s so quiet, so _sad_ it only serves to break Sweet Pea’s heart more ― he feels _regretful,_ because, yeah, he’s been kinda busy lately, and he _has_ been planning things with his best friend, but he wasn’t ― he thought he’s made very clear already that Jughead would never be a _bother,_ that he’s open to talking about _anything_ at _any time._ Reggie’s got a similar expression of hearbtreak in his face, and Sweet Pea knows he’s not the only one.

“You’d _never_ bother us, Jug.”

Jughead’s only answer to that is a half shrug, unconvinced, and Sweet Pea and Reggie share a look. They’ve gotten past the point of believing talking things out _as they happen_ is something inherently good ― sometimes, they’ll need a while to think, to muse over things, to dwell on them until they can understand what they are, what they mean, how they change their dynamics. Right now is one of these times.

“Why don’t we talk about this in the morning, uh?” Reggie offers, and Sweet Pea gives him a grateful look, a lump in his throat. Reggie’s answer to it is a small, gentle smile, and something warm lodges itself in the space between Sweet Pea’s ribs. “We’ll rest a bit, cuddle a lot, how does that sound?”

Sweet Pea could do with a good night of sleeping cuddles, he thinks, exhaustion suddenly weighing on him. He doesn’t remember when was the last time he’s managed to get an eight-hour sleep, nor when was the last time they’ve done this. With his half-time jobs, finals coming up, Reggie’s father demanding his presence in more and more family gatherings, they’ve just kinda ― stopped. Not hanging out together, annoying the fuck out of each other and spending quality time together, but ― there hasn’t been cuddling just for the sake of cuddling, anymore. They’ve been all so busy and so stressed they just kinda let it pass, and, now, here, Sweet Pea can’t understand how they’ve been so foolish.

They’ll talk it out later, he decides, eyelids heavy, and Jughead curls at his side, trembling. Reggie gets comfortable once again, fingers now playing with Sweet Pea’s hair, his free hand resting above Jughead’s hipbone, thumb running gentle circles against the skin, and he’s humming slowly and off-tune, but comforting and familiar enough that Sweet Pea doesn’t even find it in himself to _try_ and tease him.

“Good.” Jughead breathes out, slowly. “It sounds good.”

And, if Sweet Pea makes sure to reach behind Reggie’s back, to cradle both him and Jughead closer, to hold them _both,_ none of them says a thing. It’s ― good. Comfortable. Safe.

_It’s home._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this, but I've done some worldbuilding for a few other parts and ships that I plan on writing, so there's that c:
> 
> you can scream at me @ o-solemio on tumblr  
>  ~~scream gently, tho, for I am an anxious bean~~


End file.
